Burn the Evidence
by korinara
Summary: Edward & Kim. DISCONTINUED. Three months and six weeks they had been apart, and whilst Edward is just quietly abiding his time and waiting for the world, Kim is growing anxious. You never could trust teenagers, with those swelling glands and all.
1. Scene A

**Burn the Evidence**

**Scene A**

Disclaimer: Edward Scissorhands is not mine.

A/N: What sparked this little bout of insanity? Several things, actually, but the main was that I wanted something that deviates from the typical "Kim's granddaughter/OC character and Edward romance." I mean, the movie was not only one depicting our stereotypical world and how we never seem to like to stray from what we know and are accustomed to, but it was also one of _romance._ Usually with movies and mangas and things like that, I can see alternate pairings, but…not in this case. It was a forbidden, yet somehow pure and beautiful love, and it makes me sad to see anyone besides Kim with Edward. Other than that, quite frankly I needed a _serious_ break from the routine. Also, I _do_ realize that ES was supposed to never change and all that, but it made me bawl my eyes out to see Kim and Edward separate, so I'm bringing them together. Besides, this is just a fanfic, and I'm just a lowly fanfic author. I'm not really doing any injustice to the movie itself.

Also, on a side note, this is set right after the part in the movie where she tells all the neighbors Edward is dead as she holds a scissor arm. The little grandkid was never identified properly (besides as being her grandkid), so I'll go off this little tidbit. Oh, and we _also_ don't know for sure if those scenes of Edward in the garden are _actually_ flashbacks or not. C: Thank goodness for those loopholes!

Oh, and I'm sorry if the updates don't come so fast. Just…keep poking me and I'll go faster, guaranteed!

**--------------------**

Sometimes, when Edward willed it enough, he could dream delicately of Kim Boggs. She would appear to him in a wonderful world he had created, one of fantastic surroundings and beautiful things all around him, wearing that same white dress she had worn that fateful night. And she would dance up to him, laughing and twirling, bits of ice and snow in her hair. He would smile and laugh a little, too, reaching out his hands—_real_ hands—to her and dancing with her slowly in the delightful utopia he created.

Other times, though, when Edward was feeling particularly sad or lonely, he would concoct bad, sinister dreams. Instead of dancing with her he would cut her with those bulky, awful scissor hands of his. She'd gasp and hold her hand, showing him what he had done, and then instantaneously, more cuts would appear on her until she was screaming and writhing under his attempts at consoling gestures, much like Kevin had.

Edward had just had one such dream. He had awoken with a start, scissor hands twitching and sliding together as he sat up and looked around, somehow hoping he was on Kim's (now ruptured beyond repair) bed filled with water. But on discovering he was _not, _in fact, back with the Boggs, he lay back and stared up at the dawn light pouring in through the holes in the rafters and roof.

It had been approximately three months since the fiasco that had left him mournfully bereft of Kim; he knew this because he was, in all honesty, counting the days that passed. He would mark a line with one of his blades on the wall every time that night fell, and every time thirty days passed, he would circle that group and strike another much longer line above that. And so far, there were three particularly long lines and three fat circles.

Winter hadn't long passed, but the ice sculptures Edward had worked so hard on to make look beautiful and _happy_ had melted nonetheless. So instead he had to take up his hedge trimming once more, focusing all his attentions on restoring the hand in the garden he had butchered in his angry, confused, unbelievably frustrated state. It had grown out partly in the months he had left it unattended, and it looked much like it had before the Christmas Eve incident, if not for the fingers being a bit short. Also, he had replaced the ice sculpture of Kim with a landscape art of her. This time, though, he added a rose to the place where her hair would fall from her temple and tuck behind her ear, systematically replacing the dead, withering ones with new ones.

He still walked funny—even funnier still when he made his way down stairs or a slope of land of the sort. He pointed his scissors away from his body, more on instinct at the fault of bad experiences with the contraptions, and kept his back oddly rigid. Even when he was at ease he appeared to be tense about something by his body language, but then again, he never really looked in mirrors much. It made him depressed, and Edward hated being depressed—almost as much as he hated being alone. Though, as he had soon realized, the two came hand-in-hand all too often.

His feet touched the cold, dusty ground of the first floor, and he walked carefully to the huge door as he always did, his leather outfit squeaking with every step. It seemed his life was becoming much too routine for his tastes as of late: dream of Kim—whether good or bad, though usually the latter, wake up and think back for a minute on his life with the Boggs, get up and walk awkwardly down the stairs, reproachfully enter his own garden, then proceed to trim the hedges until about nightfall or sometimes earlier.

Where was the excitement in that? Where was the fun—the _joy—_in being alone snipping at bushes on a deserted mansion atop some big hill?

Many a time he had asked himself this question, lingering momentarily at the front gate and gently fondling the iron bars, before answering always with the same thing: he was dangerous; he was different; he was _Edward Scissorhands. _The thought of being happy again was just as preposterous as the looming hope in his mind that someday he would see—and love—Kim once more, just like in his reveries. Nevertheless, Edward was a determined young…creation, and he had all the time in the world to wait for his dreams to come true.

Although, he sincerely wished that the nightmares would never become a reality, for if they did, he didn't know what he would do. And with that he clipped off a stray leaf sticking out from the hedge design of the beautiful Kim in her white dress, smiling slightly in spite of himself.

- - -

Kim admitted it without regret—she still had that white dress. She hadn't worn it since, and hadn't _washed_ it for that matter, either, but she still had it. It hung on a hanger in the back of her closet, inside its plastic case, the dark mahogany of her dried blood sharply contrasting with the purity of the rest of it. Besides, it was the only thing that she had left to remind her of Edward. Well, that and "his" scissor hand, which she had selfishly taken home so that, as hard as she would try, she would never forget him.

It had been three months and six days since she had seen him. Three months and six days since she'd hugged him, since she'd realized that he smelled pleasantly of leather and the detergent her mother used for clothes, and that he was actually quite…_warm _despite his cold exterior appearance.

She could still feel herself wrapped tight around him at night as she lay there, sometimes. Of course, her destroyed water bed had been replaced but, like the dress and the scissor hand, she had absolutely _insisted_ that she keep the punctured rubber folded and stored in her closet. Anything and everything that could ever possibly remind her that Edward was still up there in that mansion up on the hill she kept. Even the little things, like his torn plainclothes she had collected before any of the neighbors could. She kept those folded neat in her bottom drawer of her dresser.

She sighed as she lay in bed, ignoring the morning light filtering through the blinds and into her room. She wished for nothing more than to be with him. Three months and six days ago seemed like _ten years_ ago now, and try as she might, she couldn't help but steal secretive glances to the mansion on the hill sometimes.

Stray thoughts would haunt her, sometimes. "We could live in secret" and "we could run away from it all, and just live and love _together"_ constantly plagued her, even reducing her to tears at the possibilities at times.

She got up out of bed finally, and moved to look in her mirror. She looked exactly the same, except that she had fleshed out a little more. She wasn't _fat, _just slightly thicker than she had been.

A pang struck her heart when she looked into the corner of the mirror where she had first seen Edward lying on her bed in her dad's pajamas with that scared look on his face. What a terrible, terrible way to first meet someone as gentle, meek, and wonderful as him.

Suddenly feeling determined and empowered, she slammed a palm on her dresser. She _would_ get back to Edward! If she didn't, she'd surely die. She'd surely wither and collapse one day. Throwing her clothes on, she hauled off towards the bathroom to brush her teeth and do her hair.

She would live with him, she would love him, and _dammit, she'd get his hands FIXED!_

Her actions slowed considerably and the frenetic way she scrubbed at her teeth with the toothbrush halted to a steady rate when she realized that all this couldn't be done within just a day. It would take weeks of planning—weeks of calling people and befriending them in the nearby cities, of buying her own car, of setting it up to give Edward an identity. But how in God's name would she be able to hide those hands of his? Surely everyone in the _at least_ the county knew who he was by now, right?

She picked up a colorful ad that came from the daily paper as she spit and rinsed her mouth. One of the many advertisements was for coats for odd-ended men. Slowly, a smile crossed her, and she stuffed the ad into her pocket, yelling to her mother that she was going out and taking the car for a little while.


	2. Scene B

**Burn the Evidence**

**Scene B**

Disclaimer: Edward Scissorhands is not my own; excerpt of the song "Here in Your Arms" copyright Hellogoodbye.

"_You are the one  
the one that lies close to me  
whispers "hello, I miss you quite terribly"  
I fell in love, in love with you suddenly  
there's no place I could be but here in your arms" –Hellogoodbye_

A/N: I had to add in the song snippet because it just seemed to fit so well. Then again, lots of songs could relate to the story of Edward and Kim, but this one just seemed particularly bittersweet to me. Enjoy chapter two, and even though at the end of this chapter it may seem like the end of the _story, _don't worry. It most certainly is not. (:

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"May I ask," the man drawled, sighing and taking off his glasses as he examined the pile of cash that lay before him, "how in the _world_ a young woman like you obtained so much money?"

Kim fidgeted nervously in her soft, richly upholstered chair. It had been a little more than a month since she had resolved to reunite with Edward, and she had everything set, with the exception of a social security card and a car. And now, at the car dealership, she very much so did _not_ want to tell him that she had taken the money out of her college fund. "It came from an inheritance."

"So…then why exactly do you need this car?"

"I…" she glanced quickly around the room, examining the trinkets that scattered his office. A couple awards, a diploma of some sort, a picture of what she assumed to be his family—

"Miss Boggs?"

She blinked and looked once more at him. "Uh…I'm getting ready to go to college, and it's far away from here. I figured this would be the first step towards my…adult life," she lied, and lied _well, _because the man instantly smiled and shoved some papers her way.

"Very well then!" he announced, folding his hands. "So that's 3,000 dollars cash for a used Toyota Tercel, that car just out front?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Now, you do realize that it's not the best car in the world, and that it's not going to give you any big street reputation in college?"

She raised a brow and nodded. "That…wasn't what I was looking for anyway…"

He grinned. "Well, sign here, and the car's yours!"

She did as asked, smiling at her accomplishment. "Can I drive it home?"

At the man's delighted nod, she was out the door.

The car was definitely nothing to sneeze at. A 1980 Toyota Tercel, white, a couple scratches, and even more pieces where the paint was peeling away to reveal the primer color was what sat parked before her, and she mentally congratulated herself. It was cheap, inconspicuous, and would most definitely get her (and Edward!) from point A to point B.

She slipped the key in the lock and unlocked it, getting into the car and marveling at how…_normal_ it looked. The interior was a dull, faded sort of teal color, with the seats being cloth and slightly worn. The middle consol had been taken out and a sheet covered what would undoubtedly be otherwise naked metal, and the glove compartment door was also missing. But she leaned against the seat anyway, leaning her head back to stare up at the tattered ceiling. It ran perfect, was an automatic, and was big enough to hold the two of them (and a few choice belongings) comfortably.

A fleeting spark of doubt lit in her mind, but she quickly disregarded it. What if Edward didn't even _want_ to come with her? What if she was caught? What if, what if, what _if?_

Shaking her head and biting her lip resolutely, she put the key in the engine and started it, then reveled in the soft purr of the engine as she worked out the plan in her mind. She'd park the car at the car park down the street, walk back to the dealership, drive her mother's car back home, then take the bus _back_ to the car park. Finally, after all this, she'd go and pick up Edward.

She was giddy just thinking about it. The plan was intricate and probably a little unnecessary, but it made her feel empowered and eager. With a surge she was driving off, now more determined than ever.

- - -

Edward couldn't explain it, but something in the air felt odd—like something about _this_ day was exceptionally diverse from the other one hundred-some-on other ones. And it was almost like a ray of blissful anticipation had illuminated the inside of him, showing him the potentials of the world and how not-so-unbelievable they actually were. If just for a moment, he ceased in his trimming, scissors stilling over the hedge, as the sun slowly sank below the far-off horizon.

But he just blinked and continued, merely discarding the feeling as a glimmer of something most unattainable and most unreliable to dwell on. Another month had passed since he had had one of those terrible nightmares, and he didn't very well want another one any time soon. He was just about finished—just about ready to wipe off his shearing appendages and head inside for some dinner, which grew in complimentary of the garden he had kept in top-shape all those years, but a glint down the drive of the hill caught his peripheral vision, and he once again found himself frozen to the grass, unable to turn himself around and see, in full view, what was making its way up the hill to the rickety mansion.

He didn't know whether to be afraid or overjoyed at that moment. Surely it wouldn't be Kim—oh, no. That was the _last _person he'd expect. But then it couldn't be one of the housewives, could it? Or the _police?_ His blades twitched anxiously, and he found himself walking quickly up the steps and into the mansion. Once inside he situated himself at a broken window, peering out fearfully.

The car was white and box-like—not like the other cars in Suburbia or like the police cars, so he relaxed a little. It stopped at the gates, where the metal grate lie hidden beneath the overgrown vines, and he heard the engine rattle to a halt before the telltale sound of a squeaking door made him wince.

He kept his blades from fidgeting, knowing they made noise and would attract the unexpected and quite un_wanted_ visitor, so instead he opted for curling his toes inside his boots, ducking a little when a head popped out from the car.

A woman walked to the door, seeming determined and hell-bent on stepping past all of his garden sculptures to get to the door. She had a head of mid-length blondish hair and was wearing a blue-colored suit. Also, she carried a large bag slung around her shoulder, and it bounced against her hip as she walked.

It definitely was _not _Kim. This woman was _not_ the girl he had become besotted and entranced by. Of this he was sure.

The woman came to the door finally, and he moved away completely from the window, sparing a glance at the door to make sure he had locked it. He had.

The knock echoed throughout the mansion, and he slunk into a corner, sitting back on his haunches in the shadows and trying not to notice the cobwebs that tickled his nose.

"Hello?" the woman called, her voice pleasant and young—much like honey or an untainted bowl of cookie dough. She knocked again, this time longer and louder. "Is anybody home?"

There was silence and he thought the woman had finally left, but then he heard a phrase that made him go rigid.

"Avon calling!"

He wondered briefly—frantically—if the woman was Peg Boggs, or if perhaps history was repeating itself.

She knocked again and repeated the phrase, making him crouch farther into his corner, arms tucking his knees as close to his chest as possible.

Of course, she _couldn't_ be Peg. She was much too young, and so thin that he saw the bones of her knees as she had walked to the door. Then he heard her curse the company she worked for and turn to leave, her footsteps heavy.

He blinked down at the floor as he heard the car pull away and drive back down the hill. The car had scared him, but he had still left the ladder outside, hidden in the shrubbery though it was. He didn't want it to rust…

Fifteen minutes or possibly more passed before he summoned up the courage to look out the window and make sure the coast was clear. It was, and he got up slowly, ambling to the outside. Dark had already fallen over Suburbia and the mansion, but he didn't care much. Dark was something he was used to, even if he didn't necessarily like it.

He pulled the ladder from a particularly large bush, dragging it out so that he could fold it. He didn't realize he was standing in front of the iron gates until a pair of incandescent lights shone in his eyes and blinded him.

Startled, he dropped the ladder and staggered backwards. The word _police_ raced across his thoughts, flashing lights much brighter than the one in his eyes to get up and run as fast as he could back into the mansion. But the car was much too close now, and he knew he'd been caught. Panic knifed through him, making him tremble and his scissors slice at the air like he had to cut his way through it to breathe.

He recognized the car—white and box-like—and felt his heart drop into the pits of his stomach. Why had the woman come back? Hadn't she gotten the idea the _first_ time around? Enraged, frustrated, and feeling much like he had on Christmas Eve, Edward finally mustered whatever wits were left in him to turn around and march solemnly towards the mansion, leaving only the ladder in his wake. The car door opened quietly, but still loud enough for him to hear, and his steps quickened considerably, coinciding with the wild thumping in his chest. A voice made him stop completely, though.

"Edward!"

The voice sounded familiar—much _too_ familiar, in fact, and he found himself twitching both his toes and his blades slower now as he turned around to face whoever was calling him with such a voice that made him swallow and quiver at the possibilities. He noticed then that the car had been turned off, headlights and all, and the woman stood near it, in the dark, so that he couldn't make out who it was. He could clearly see that the car was not the one from before, though, as it was much more tattered.

She advanced, and he retreated. Several times they repeated this game until the girl finally grew fed up and stepped into a dim light in the garden.

And then all of Edward's senses failed him and his mind became a blank slate. His arms were limp; his knees felt like they would buckle. No sound, no smell, no feeling…_nothing_ fazed him at this moment or any other moment as she stepped cautiously towards him, clutching what looked like her car keys in one hand. When she spoke again, everything came back in a rush, and he felt like Jim was hitting him over the back with a pipe again.

"Edward?"

She had sounded so desperate, so afraid of something…perhaps him, or maybe just the _thought_ of him? Whatever it was, the last syllable had been pronounced with a breaking sort of tone, making her voice seem weak and shaky—almost like it was about to shatter into a thousand irreparable pieces.

_This_ girl had shorter hair than the one before. It fell to just barely the tips of her shoulders, looking freshly cut. She had separated bangs, and wasn't anywhere _near_ as skinny as the Avon lady. And the way she walked—the way her expression shifted into so many vulnerable things—made his chest ache and his insides churn. She looked hurt.

"Edward," she repeated for the third time, and then he realized that she was visibly shaking.

He took a deep but silent breath through his agape mouth that had dropped slightly from shock, shuddering a little as he did so. She could change her appearance all she wanted—could cut her hair, flesh out in all the most appropriate places, even put on make-up to make her seem older than she was—but Edward would never forget her for as long as he lived, which would most likely be until the end of time.

The woman that stood before him was no Avon lady. This was the one and only Kim Boggs. This was the woman the rational part of him had wished to never see again, even though the other quite _instinctive_ side was already dancing with her in the snow.

Four months and sixteen days they had been apart, and it seemed more like seventy years.


End file.
